


Dwarven Traditions

by Poedhamerons



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Christmas, Dwarven Traditions, Engagement, For Solstice, I mean Christmas in this takes place on the 21st, M/M, Pining, Pining!Thorin, Winter Solstice, Winter traditions, he really is, it's adorable, oh well, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 17:01:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2858285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poedhamerons/pseuds/Poedhamerons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Bilbo Baggins has had entirely enough with dwarves and their strange traditions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dwarven Traditions

**Author's Note:**

> This was first posted on tumblr, but pamurai requested I post it to AO3, so here it is!

Really, what it all came down to was that dwarves were, almost definitely, the strangest race in all of Middle Earth.

It began with a fireplace. Seeing as it was Bilbo’s first time in the mountain and his first winter there besides, the Company had decided to show him a few of their winter traditions, and Bilbo had gone along with it, interested to learn more about the mysterious culture that he had, more or less, dropped himself smack in the middle of.

That was his first mistake. 

Erebor got significantly cooler in the winter than the other seasons, which was not at all surprising, considering where it was and what it was, so it made just as much sense for the first tradition of winter to be the lighting of the hearth. The great forges below were always lit, but at the heart of the mountain lay an enormous bonfire, its heat responsible for warming the entire mountain and keeping Erebor’s dwarves dry and comfortable. Bilbo had stood, huddled at the back of the bonfire’s cavern and watched as Thorin and several other dwarves held torches to the bonfire’s flickering heat, taking a hesitant step back as the torches blazed, their flames looking like tiny stars next to the heart of the mountain. Thorin turned towards Bilbo, moving with him out of the cavern and towards the chambers. It was considered unlucky for the torch to go out before the lighting of the hearth, and Bilbo hovered close to Thorin as they moved through the mountain, careful not to breathe too heavily in the direction of the torch. They had had enough bad luck in the past year, and Bilbo preferred not to give Thorin more in the future.

They reached the royal chambers quickly enough, and Bilbo followed Thorin inside. The Company had decided that since Bilbo had never practiced dwarven traditions before, he ought to just follow Thorin, and Bilbo had readily agreed, fairly certain that he would mess them all up and be kicked out of the mountain should he be left to his own devices.

Bilbo shivered as they entered Thorin’s chambers, feeling small with the towering ceiling and canopied bed. Thorin’s rooms were fit for a king, and Bilbo had never felt like more of a hobbit than he did in that moment.

"Bilbo," Thorin’s voice was soft as he kneeled next to the large stone fireplace, carved from the wall across from the bed. Thorin was gazing at Bilbo thoughtfully, and Bilbo moved closer, crouching down beside the dwarf and huddling close to the torch, which was the only warmth in the room save for Thorin himself.

Thorin’s reached forward, holding the torch over the dried kindling and speaking softly as he did so.”It is said that when Durin lay alone in his mountain, he did not reach for another body, but instead for flint to strike a flame. He was the only dwarf to be laid to sleep alone, without another to rest beside him, for company or for warmth. As Durin was warmed by his flame, so shall we be warmed by ours.”

In that moment, the hearth caught flame, and Bilbo sighed as the heat burned brighter, setting shadows dancing against the far walls and pricking at his cold skin. Thorin rose to notch the torch in a sconce against the other wall, but returned to Bilbo’s side, seated comfortably before the fire. The ceremony was over, but Bilbo remained close to the fire, shivering and rubbing his hands together to try and keep warm. He paused when he noticed Thorin’s fur coat draped over the king’s shoulders, and, after a moment’s hesitation, asked, “Could I borrow your coat? Only, I’m still quite cold, in spite of the fire.”

Thorin gaped at him, and for a moment he almost took the question back, despite the chill around his shoulders and at his fingertips. Instead, Thorin removed the coat, his knuckles white as they gripped the collar tightly and, with gentle veneration and a tiny smile, he laid it over Bilbo’s shoulders. 

Cautiously, Bilbo smiled his thanks, turning back towards the fire. Had he not turned away, he would have seen the almost reverential look upon Thorin’s face, the surprise and shaky hope that the dwarf was unable to cast aside as his eyes traced the coat, now wrapped around the shoulders of an entirely oblivious hobbit.

*

The second tradition was one of food, something that Bilbo took to with all the gusto of a hobbit who had been severely lacking his seven daily meals.

Perhaps there was a story wrapped up in the tradition, one of great kings long lost who had feasted in the dead of winter and had awoken to flowers blooming upon the mountainside and watery sunlight casting rays of golden light through open doorways. Perhaps the Feast was simply meant to brighten spirits in a time when darkness swept over the sky earlier than usual. It mattered not to Bilbo, who only jumped at the chance to dine with the Company again. They had all been busy since the end of their quest, Thorin doubly so, and Bilbo had taken to spending much of his time in the library or walking with Thorin as he surveyed the goings-on around the mountain, lamenting how little he saw his friends.

So, as it was, Bilbo found himself laughing just as loud as the other dwarves, grinning just as bright and, yes, drinking just as much, doubling over in hysterics as he matched Dwalin drink for drink. They were dining in a room set aside specifically for royalty, and Bilbo had been seated to Thorin’s right, across from Fili and Kili, with Thorin at the head. Bilbo found himself catching Thorin’s eye more than once, always when the dwarf king was gazing at him, and if his face went redder after each time, well. He  _had_  been drinking quite a bit.

Either way, as the night progressed, Bilbo found himself caught up in the warm, mellowing feeling of being full and near friends, and it was only when Dwalin finally set down his last tankard with a fierce growl of, “ _Fine,_ Master Hobbit. You  _win_ ,” that Bilbo pushed his own mug aside, glancing towards Thorin again. The dwarf was in deep conversation with his nephews, his eyes flickering between them and the rest of the Company. Bilbo eyed the mug of water that sat before his plate, untouched and pushed away from where Thorin had been eating. Figuring that he would need to stave off the inevitable sickness the following morning, and not wanting to disturb Thorin’s conversation, Bilbo reached for his water, sipping at it slowly as he turned to listen in on Bofur’s conversation beside him.

Except Bofur’s conversation had cut off when Bilbo had picked up the mug, and Bilbo frowned at the dwarves as he took another sip, unsure who to look at with ten pairs of eyes latched onto his.

“Did I do something?” Bilbo asked awkwardly as he lowered the stein, and Thorin stopped his conversation, glancing over at the hobbit and freezing in place, his eyes moving from the condensation ring where his mug had originally been and Bilbo’s hand, where it now was. Fili and Kili’s faces were slowly growing into enormous grins and Bilbo set the mug down, staring back at them with a hard look.

“Is that mine?” Thorin asked, and Bilbo looked back at him with a quizzical look.

“Yes, I thought I should drink some water. To prevent a headache. Because I don’t want to—why are you all staring at me?” Bilbo shifted in place, uncomfortably hot under the sharp gazes of the Company, his eyes darting from the other dwarves’ faces to Thorin’s, which looked just as shocked as when Bilbo had asked for his coat. There was a pattern here, but what exactly the catalyst was, Bilbo was still unsure. Instead, Balin’s voice rang out in the deafening silence.

“It is nothing, Master Baggins. Sharing food is just not something oft done during a feast such as this one.”

“But you lot were just sharing food,” Bilbo protested, pointing at the Ri brothers, and he tried to ignore the prickling feeling of Thorin’s gaze on him, tracing every movement.

“The Feast of Fathers is not just another communal gathering,” Dori muttered, but he let out a sharp yelp, and beside him Bombur shot him a glare and then looked back at Bilbo, smiling innocently.

“Er, well,” Bilbo paused, turning back to Thorin, who was staring at him, still looking hungry despite the large meal that they had just finished. Bilbo held out the stein. “Would you like it back?”

“No,” Thorin replied, and his voice was clipped and short, as if an important decision had been made after much deliberation. Bilbo placed the mug back on the table, still hesitant. “Keep it. Drink your water.”

There was a collective intake of breath, and Bilbo whirled back around towards the other dwarves, throwing up his hands in confusion. “What now?! What is going on?”

“Tis nothing, Bilbo,” Fili reached across the table to pat his hand, smiling pleasantly at the bewildered hobbit. “Drink your water, we dwarves are simply drunk and confused.”

“Oh, you dwarves are something,” Bilbo grumbled suspiciously, reaching for Thorin’s mug and taking another sip, trying to ignore Ori's tiny squeak from down the table. “Though I dare not guess at what in your  _esteemed_ company.”

The rest of the Company slowly began to converse again, and even Fili and Kili changed the topic to one of pranks that they had devised back when they had lived in the Blue Mountains. Fili was weaving a grand tale of an elaborate ruse he and Kili had devised to spook the miners which had Bilbo in stitches, the now emptied water mug abandoned next to his plate. Bilbo cast a cautious glance towards Thorin, and for a moment his laughter caught in his throat, because Thorin was staring at him as he had once stared at the Lonely Mountain, with a look of promise and devotion that stole Bilbo’s breath away.

“ _—ilbo_? Bilbo?” Bilbo blinked, tearing his gaze away from Thorin, feeling the blush creep over his face and down his neck as Fili grinned at him from across the table. “You feeling alright, Bilbo?”

“Just fine, thank you,” Bilbo replied primly, though he could still feel Thorin’s eyes on his face. “You were saying something about pugs?”

*

The third time was just absolutely not Bilbo’s fault in any way.

While dwarves seemed to have their own traditions, hobbits still had theirs, and Bilbo found himself rapping his knuckles on Thorin’s door early in the morning, shuffling where he stood. It was the day of Solstice, and he fidgeted with the gift under his arm, adjusting the bow on top until the sounds of a lock unlatching made him straighten up, grinning as Thorin opened the door.

He looked as dishevelled as a king could, which was to say not very much so, and Bilbo’s smile dropped a little as he took in Thorin’s appearance. “Oh dear.”

“…Bilbo?”

“Mm, yes, though now I’m wishing I wasn’t here,” Bilbo ran a quick hand through his curls. “Do dwarves not celebrate Solstice?”

“What’s Solstice?”

“That answers that question, then,” Bilbo huffed out a breath and looked up at Thorin through his lashes. “Hobbits exchange gifts on the shortest and longest days of the year to commemorate the seasons. I am now rapidly realising that dwarves do not do the same.”

“No,” Thorin was smiling now, leaning against the doorway and looking down at Bilbo again with  _that look_. “We do not.”

“Ah, well. Take this anyway, and I shan’t make the same mistake again in summer,” Bilbo held out the present, but Thorin did not reach for it. Instead, the look faltered, sliding off his face into an altogether too familiar expression.

“Oh for Eru’s sake, not again,” Bilbo groaned as he saw Thorin’s face, that sharp look that told Bilbo he had done something strange and hobbit-ish again, though he knew not what.

“Are you giving this gift to me freely?” Thorin asked, and Bilbo looked up at him, surprised by the softness in his voice.

“Yes?” Bilbo frowned, looking down at the gift. “It isn’t exactly much, but dwarves don’t celebrate Solstice apparently, so it would be cruel to make you give me something in return.”

“Cruel?” Thorin’s eyes widened, and Bilbo just stared, completely unable to comprehend any of these strange moods and faces that Thorin was making.

“Should I be made aware of what, exactly, it is that I keep doing to make you look like that?” Bilbo asked, and Thorin turned back to look into his room.

“Mm, follow me,” he replied instead, and whirled back, moving deeper into his room and settling himself in a chair before the fire, taking a blanket and, with only a moment’s hesitation, handing it to Bilbo, who sat in the chair opposite, still holding the box tightly in his lap. “Do you know anything of dwarven traditions?”

“I know what you’ve told me,” Bilbo shrugged, glancing around the room and tugging the blanket closer around himself.

“Balin told me you spend much of your time in the library,” Thorin pushed on.

“I hardly read up on dwarven traditions,” Bilbo huffed. “Frankly, I prefer fiction.”

For a moment, Thorin said nothing, but his eyes landed upon the gift in Bilbo’s lap and he looked back up, meeting Bilbo’s curious gaze. “While we do have the traditions that the Company and I have shown you, there are several other more  _intimate_ traditions that we dwarves have. Ones between close friends, family, and … lovers.”

“Oh, Yavanna,” Bilbo dropped his head into his hands, realising exactly where this conversation was going.

“You remember how I told you the story of Durin and his fire?” Bilbo peeked up through his fingers and nodded while Thorin continued. “Well, among dwarves, Durin’s fire is a symbol of warmth, and the giving of warmth is something done only between very close family members and intimate partners. To share ones warmth, to give warmth to another is like cleaving your soul in two and giving a half away. As the fire was Durin’s soul, so our warmth—or, rather, so a  _fur coat_ —is mine.”

“Your soul is a fur coat?” Bilbo frowned at that, dropping his hands and squinting at Thorin, not entirely sure if the dwarf king was simply pulling an elaborate ruse.

“It isn’t the object,” Thorin replied, exasperated. “It is what the coat symbolizes. It is my warmth, my fire, my soul. Even more so, considering my descent.”

“So when I asked for your coat…”

“It meant much more than what you intended, I’m sure,” Thorin gave him a wry smile.

“And the mug of water?” Bilbo asked. “What of that?”

“The Feast of Fathers is a sacred tradition held with family members and close friends,” Thorin explained. “Had my sister been here and not still ruling her Mountain, she would have joined us. As it stands, the Feast is to commemorate both the unity between dwarves and each of our families. In that way, we dine as one, yet keep our food separate, to show how we are separate.”

“But?”

“But,” Thorin smiled. “Should two dwarves—or perhaps not dwarves, if present company is accounted for—be engaged or married, they would share their food to show how they are uniting their houses and families as one.”

“What of the present, then?” Bilbo asked slowly, and Thorin beamed at him, a hint of teeth setting Bilbo’s stomach fluttering.

“The exchanging of presents is not uncommon with dwarves,” Thorin hummed, settling deeper in his chair. “But it is just that, an _exchange_.  To give a gift is to create a debt owed to you by another, and that debt is filled by another gift given back to you. To freely give a gift and expect nothing in return is to say that the other is worth more than any debt to you, that they are precious enough to transcend any debts owed to you.”

“So it’s just a way to say that you don’t owe anything to me?” Bilbo frowned. “It’s true, though. You don’t owe me anything.”

Thorin sucked in a breath, turning away for a moment, as if to collect himself. When he looked back, it was with a quiet gaze, the smile from earlier gone. “That is a very serious declaration, Master Baggins.”

“And I am a very serious hobbit,” Bilbo rolled his eyes, holding out the gift. “It isn’t even that great a gift; I intended to give presents to the rest of the Company as well, though I shan’t be doing that now."

“Indeed?” Thorin still did not take the gift, and Bilbo’s arms were getting tired from holding it out.

“Well it hardly seems right,” Bilbo sighed, pulling his arms back and toying with the bow on top of the box. “Still, I should like to give you a gift, in spite of it all.”

Thorin stared at him, and Bilbo tried not to look away or fidget under that gaze. It was Thorin who turned away first, and he stared into the fire, saying nothing for a long time, until Bilbo huffed a breath and stood. “If you don’t intend to take my gift, I won’t force you, but I don’t want to sit around and make a fool of myself.”

Thorin swung his head up to look at Bilbo but said nothing, and Bilbo placed the gift in his chair. “Happy Solstice, Thorin.”

As Bilbo turned away, a hand caught his and tugged him back sharply, pulling Bilbo so that he was turned back around to face Thorin. He frowned, looking down at his hand, now gripped tightly in Thorin’s fingers. “Thorin?”

“I would accept your gift, Bilbo,” he murmured, and Bilbo rolled his eyes at overdramatic dwarves.

“Of course you will.”

“Without giving you one of my own.” The look on Thorin’s face made it seem as though he were watching Mahal himself descend from the skies.

“I thought we had already agreed on that par—Mmph!” Bilbo let out a squeak as Thorin pulled him down so that Bilbo was sprawled in Thorin’s lap, looking up at the dwarf, who seemed awestruck as he gazed down at Bilbo. “That was entirely unnecessary.”

Instead of replying, Thorin tangled his fingers into Bilbo’s hair, pulling him closer and kissing him with every ounce of desperation that Bilbo had seen pent up behind those blue eyes.

Bilbo sighed, pressing closer and tightening his fingers around Thorin’s braids, smiling at the soft, desperate sounds that Thorin was making. He pulled back, pressing a thumb to Thorin’s cheek and frowning up at him. “Does this mean we’re engaged?”

Thorin squinted down at Bilbo, encircling him with his other arm. “You drank my water, of course we are.”

He leaned in for another kiss, but Bilbo pressed at his chest to stop him. Thorin sighed dramatically, but leaned back and gave Bilbo an appraising look, waiting for him to continue. “Are there any other dwarven traditions I should know about?”

“There are many fine,  _upstanding_  traditions you should know about,” Thorin replied, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “But I would prefer for you to find them out on your own.”

“Will my embarrassment never end?” Bilbo groaned, tipping his head back and letting it flop over the armrest. He jerked up at the press of lips to his throat and poked at Thorin’s head. “I never actually said I would marry you, Thorin.”

“Your actions say more than your words,” Thorin replied, his voice muffled against Bilbo’s skin. “Take them back if you wish.”

Bilbo turned the idea over in his mind, but the press of Thorin around him and the forlorn present that now lay forgotton on the chair told Bilbo his answer before he had even formed it.

Bilbo huffed an annoyed breath against Thorin’s hair, tugging on his braids to pull him up. Thorin tipped his head up, staring back at Bilbo, and the hobbit could see hesitance in those eyes, though Bilbo just smiled. “I should teach you about Solstice.”

Thorin flashed a smile, leaning in to press his forehead against Bilbo’s.

“I swear to you Bilbo Baggins,” Thorin murmured. “I would declare this day a holiday the moment I stepped foot outside this room.”

“Oh?” Bilbo hummed. “When would that be?”

“Not for an  _age_ ,” Thorin growled, and Bilbo could feel his toes curl as Thorin kissed him, and Bilbo decided that it was altogether  _very_  possible that dwarven traditions weren’t all that bad. 

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: I think Bilbo's gift to Thorin would have been an acorn  
> Also, I think it would have been a terrible idea for Dis to have come with her caravans from the Blue Mountains in the winter, so my HC is that she waited until the first winter was over to come to Erebor, which is why she doesn't pop up in this fic and why Thorin says she is still ruling in her Mountain
> 
> Find me at dragonslaeyr.tumblr.com!


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